


Making the Effort

by damalur



Series: Rules of the Road [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-21
Updated: 2010-05-21
Packaged: 2017-10-09 15:23:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damalur/pseuds/damalur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At Dean's suggestion, Cas has been practicing the sin of Onan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making the Effort

**Author's Note:**

> Title lifted from _Good Omens_. No clavicles were ravished in the making of this fic.

"You really wanna do this," Dean says, his tone caught somewhere between surprise and conviction. Cas has his hands shoved awkwardly into the pockets of his jeans, the gesture an obvious reflection of how much he secretly misses his trenchcoat. The trenchcoat itself—bloodstained, clawed, and spattered with Hosselman's Special Dijon Mustard—is tucked at the bottom of Dean's bag. They really need to stop at a Goodwill or an army surplus and pick Cas up some clothes of his own; three months gone and he's still living out of Dean's wardrobe, jeans noticeably too baggy for his slenderer hips. Someday he's gonna shove his hands in his pockets and take the damn pants down all together.

"Yes," Cas says. "I've practiced the sin of Onan, as you suggested—"

"Cas, seriously. If we're doing this—and don't think you're getting out of it now—you cannot go around calling it the sin of Onan."

"Very well, Dean," Cas says. "In the shower, I applied manual stimulation to my erect penis—"

Dean groans and drags Cas over. "_Now_ you're just teasing me."

The corner of Cas's mouth twitches. "Maybe." His fingers catch for a second at the hem of Dean's t-shirt, catch and then slide upward until his palm is pressed flat between Dean's shoulderblades. "Do you like being teased?"

"Shouldn't con a conman, Cas," Dean says, and smirks. He's been waiting for this moment since—shit, seems like forever now. Hasn't been, but seems like it. They've been dancing around this thing since before Cas started wearing Dean's clothes and riding in Dean's car and sleeping in Dean's bed, and now Sam's off at the library or a Wednesday night quilting club, who the hell knows but thank you anyway.

Dean dips his chin and lets his forehead press against Cas's before he backs away, pulling Cas down with him on the queen by the door. They kiss, long and languid like Dean likes, and when the kisses turn urgent they strip off t-shirts and kick away boots. This is the farthest they've gone, Cas in his old-new body and Dean relearning what the rasp of a man's stubble feels like against his neck. Cas fits his hand over the burn mark on Dean's shoulder, all proprietary, doesn't fool Dean when he tries to deny it. Dean smirks again, this time into the soft-hard skin-over-bone of Cas's collarbone, and sits up. Cas responds with a little whining noise completely unbecoming of a soldier of heaven.

"So," Dean says cheerfully, "how do you want it?"

Cas looks at him. Dean is something of an expert in Cas's looks; this isn't Cas studying him, or Cas glaring, or Cas's gaze locking with Dean's in what Sam uneuphemistically likes to call "eyefucking." This is Cas staring, confused and about five seconds away from pissy. "_Dean,_" he rasps, and the sound of his voice jolts straight to Dean's cock.

The thing is—by all accounts of his less-than-stellar self-control, Dean should've had Cas striped down and lubed up (_one_ of them should be lubed up) ten minutes ago. Cas is hot, Cas is in something resembling a relationship with Dean, Cas literally beat the hell out of him the one time Dean even _thought_ about giving up on himself. But if—this is a mighty damn big "if"—if there really is a light at the end of the tunnel, and it's starting to look like there _is_, then Dean wants to do this one thing right.

"Hang on," he says, and slides off the bed. Door's locked and chained—that'll give them a couple seconds to scramble if Sammy comes back early—and Dean flips off all the lights except the one beside their bed. It's dusk outside, the last remnants of daylight fading through the lacy, worn curtains. He gives his dick an apologetic pat. Better to keep his pants _on_ if he wants to keep this on-track.

Cas watches Dean move about the room with his wide, too-blue eyes, and the weight of that gaze on his back is pretty fuckin' near the hottest thing Dean's ever felt. When he finishes with the lights, Dean leans over and works the button and zipper of Cas's jeans and tugs them off by the bottom hem. He takes the angel's boxers off the same way, and Cas just—lets him, just lays there and looks straight at Dean, mouth fallen open, letting Dean do whatever he wants. It isn't submission, because Cas wouldn't offer that and Dean wouldn't take it, but it _is_ trust.

Dean seats himself against the headboard and spreads his legs. "C'mon," he says, and Cas, nakeder than he'd been the day he was born, crawls up the bed. Dean arranges him so his back is to Dean's chest and then, finally, hooks his chin over Cas's shoulder and looks his fill. Cas is just about as tall as he is, which Dean likes, and he's more sculpted than he used to be, although his lean frame will probably never pick up the bulky musculature of a Winchester. The jut of his hipbones alone is endlessly attractive; the clean line of his hard cock is almost enough to make Dean jizz his pants like some teenager.

"So," Dean says, and knocks the inside of his knee against Cas's leg. "Sin of Onan. Show me."

Cas twitches, surprised. "You want me to—"

"Yep," Dean says.

"I thought—"

"Nope," Dean says. "Go on."

Cas lets a quiet grunt of disappointment escape, but he unlaces his hand from Dean's and strokes his fingers across the inside of his thigh. Dean watches, inwardly amused, as Cas works up to the main event, and just before Cas wraps his hand around his cock, Dean hooks his arms under the angel's knees and rocks his body down. Cas's breath stutters, which Dean reads as appreciation for the way they're now pressed together: Cas reclined against Dean, his ass pressed against Dean's cock, his legs parted wide and draped over Dean's thighs.

If there's one quality Dean appreciates about Cas, it's his flexibility. There are actually a lot of qualities he appreciates, but yeah, flexibility near tops that list.

"Get to it," Dean says, and Cas shudders. Cas shudders, but he wraps his hand around his pretty cock, thumb just brushing over the head. Dean observes as he starts to build up momentum, working up and down with slow, even strokes, and when Cas settles into a rhythm Dean bends his mouth to Cas's ear and says, "You think about me when you do this?"

Cas jerks, his hand stuttering.

"Do you?" Dean presses.

"Yes," Cas chokes. "Always."

"Yeah?" Dean considers that for a minute as he watches Cas dip down to his balls. He also pretends his own dick isn't about to split the seam of his pants, and with much less success. "What do I do?"

"Dean—" Cas moans, and Dean hides his grin in the curve of Cas's throat.

"Hang on, Cas," he says. "Think I know what the problem is. You always do this in the shower, right?" Without waiting for an answer, he wraps his fingers around Cas's wrist and licks a broad path from the heel of Cas's palm to his fingertips. Cas fucking _quivers_.

Dean finishes it off by sucking lightly on his fingertips, then he restores Cas's hand to his cock, pumping twice before he lets his own hand fall away. Cas keeps up the motion even though his breath hitches. For a couple of seconds Dean lets himself marvel that he has a once-and-future angel spread out between his legs, flushed, fierce, and gorgeous.

He clears his throat and says, "So, shower. Me. How's that go?"

Cas groans, his hand speeds up, and Dean presses closer. "When you thought about us, Cas, what did I do? Did I watch you like this? Huh?" He studies the side of Cas's face for a reaction, takes in the closed eyes, the open lips, the tint of red high on his cheekbones. "Did you think about me on my knees in front of you, blowing you, coming on my face? Or was it my fingers in your ass that got you off?" he demands. "What did it?"

Cas hisses wordless and then grits out, "You touching—"

"Sorry, Cas," Dean says, "didn't catch that."

"Dean," Cas orders. "_Touch me_."

Dean's on that like a lick of lightning, bats Cas's arm out of the way and starts jacking his cock. He goes a little crazy—sucks a mark into Cas's neck, tugs his earlobe, palms Cas's balls with his free hand and then drops even lower to circle his hole with one finger. The whole time he keeps up a steady stream of filth, first the expected—"God, you're hot, you want it, want me to drag you in the shower and get down on my knees in front of you and fuckin' worship you"—and steadily shifting into a more intimate realm. There are only two people on God's green earth or under it who can make Dean voluntarily break his no-chick-flick-moments rule, and the only, the _only_ reason Dean is willing to throw that rule out now is because he suspects it'll make Cas shoot harder than the Colt when he comes.

So he slides his arm around Cas's waist and hauls him even closer. When he drops a kiss below Cas's earlobe and whispers, "You have no idea how much I want you," Cas throws back his head. When he takes Cas by the chin and turns his face and says, "Castiel, look at me," Cas's hips buck and start to pump into Dean's fist of their own accord. Cas's eyes fly open and Dean holds that contact; when he says, "You have no idea how much I love you," Cas falls apart in his arms, keening and shaking like he'll shatter if Dean doesn't hold him together.

It takes a while for the buzz to fade. Dean has to consciously stop himself from rubbing his cheek against Cas's hair, then figures what the hell and gives in to the impulse. "You good?" he asks.

"Yes," Cas says instantly, wrecked and emphatic. "Although I thought we would..."

"Figured we could save that for another day."

Cas makes a humming noise and threads his fingers through Dean's. "I enjoy it when you talk to me."

Dean chuckles. "I kinda picked up on that," he says, or starts to say, because Cas jolts forward and twists around to stare at Dean.

"What about you?" he says, and Dean rubs a hand across his mouth and drops his gaze.

"Uh, yeah," he says, and shifts in his uncomfortably wet pants. "Don't think we have to worry about that."

"Oh," Cas says. He frowns, like he doesn't personally approve of Dean deviating so wildly from the plan.

"But if you want to make it up to me," Dean adds, "there's always the shower."


End file.
